Kasib came back out of the general's office, his demeanor formal. For a skinny little lizard, the man had balls of stone.
"General Hudhafah will see you now," Kasib said as blandly as if his outburst of only moments before had never happened.
Jamin went to adjust his shawl and lamented the loss of the familiar symbol of status. Here, he had no status except what Hudhafah chose to bequeath upon him. Marwan's words, the desert shaykh whose daughter had sold him into slavery, came back to him. If you make yourself indispensable to the lizard people, perhaps they will amply reward you?
Jamin stepped in the door and replicated, perfectly, three-quarters of the gesture of respect Kasib had just taught, minus the bit about worshipping the devil. Until he figured out who the real devil was, the only god he intended to worship was his own sense of self-preservation.
Hudhafah rose, a grizzled battle-veteran whose shoulders were nearly as broad as the lizard was tall, and reared his dorsal ridge.
Jamin forced himself to stand firm. All his life he'd ridden on the coattails of his father's prestige. Now … it was up to him to earn his own place in the world. He tried on several facial expressions: defiance, irritation, even briefly Kasib's habitual stance of respect before settling upon curiosity.
Hudhafah lumbered forward, his green eyes narrowed into slits. His nostrils flared. Satisfied with whatever he smelled, the general gestured to some maps and barked in the Sata'anic language. Kasib translated.
"He wants to know if you recognize this?" Kasib asked. He pointed to one of many images which had been pinned to the wall.
Jamin stepped closer to the paintings which made it look as though he stood on top of a mountain staring down.
"No," Jamin said.
"Look closer," Kasib gestured at the picture.
Jamin stared at the concentric circles until he realized he stared at a village … his village … as seen from the sky. Across the map lay pins, different colored lines, and markings in the squiggly-lined Sata'anic letters he now knew represented words. One series of squiggles caught his eye.
"Chief?" Jamin poked his finger at the symbol as he read his very first word aloud.
He'd never seen his own village from the air, but now that he knew, he could recognize the landmarks. His father's rooftop as seen from the heavens, the central well, the granary. He traced his finger along roads he had walked his entire life, to Siamek's house, to the place they liked to practice throwing spears, to Ninsianna's house, and over to the fields.
Kasib handed General Hudhafah the tek-no-lo-gee and explained something to him in the guttural Sata'anic language. A word or two caught Jamin's attention, not because the words were special or possessed any special significance, they were really quite ordinary words, but because in fact he understood them. The magic in the tek-no-lo-gee had enabled him to understand a bit of their language, enough to understand the gist of what Kasib tried to say.
Kasib pleaded his worth to his commanding officer and Hudhafah was obviously intrigued. Hudhafah barked something in the hissing Sata’anic language. Kasib tasted the air, his gold-green eyes sympathetic as he finally revealed the news the lizard-people had been withholding from him.
“They tried to protect her,” Kasib said, “but they failed. If it was us, we never would have sent a woman in to do a man’s job.”
“Who?” Jamin’s gut clenched with dread.
“Your friend,” Kasib said. “The Alliance Prime Minister’s newest wife. Your people killed one of their own.”
A cacophony of emotions, guilt, disinterest, satisfaction, and then an older emotion, caring … for once upon a time he had felt something for Shahla even though he had never loved her, ripped through him in an odd mishmash of guilt and relief. Dead? Shahla was dead?
Jamin lunged forward. “You swore your men would protect her!”
Kasib stepped between him and Hudhafah, though the Sata’anic general didn’t appear to be worried. The creature was nearly twice his size.
“All five men died trying to get her away from him,” Kasib grabbed Jamin’s arm, surprisingly strong for someone Jamin thought of as a lackey.
“She failed?”
“She did not fail!” Kasib hissed. “The Prime Minister’s deception worked, even though it is loathsome to us!” His dorsal ridge rose in anger, a deep scarlet the way a higher-ranking male’s would. “What we did not expect was the Angelic would summon reinforcements!”
“Reinforcements?” Jamin said. “Who?”
Hudhafah growled something and met Jamin's gaze.
"You … show … me," General Hudhafah growled in heavily accented Kemet.
"What?" Jamin asked. "Show you what?"
Hudhafah pointed to the map of Assur.
"Where … her?" General Hudhafah growled. He pointed to an image displayed on Kasib's smart pad, a device the lizard always carried with him which was twice as large as the little language game.
Jamin scrutinized the birds-eye image. It was grainy and the reddish light cast off from the bonfire gave everything a hellish appearance, but the face which stared up at him, twisted with hatred as she stood over a pile of crumpled brown feathers and drew back her spear, was unmistakable.
"Pareesa," Jamin hissed with hatred.
He whirled to the map and pointed to a rooftop.
"She lives here."
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 21
November: 3,390 BC
Earth: Mesopotamian Plain
Pareesa
"Hey … Pareesa!"
"Pareesa!"
"Pareesa!"
People greeted her as though she was some sort of hero as she made her way to the inner ring. She passed Shahla's father's house, the door and windows fastened shut, with a black mourning banner conspicuously absent from the front door. Brown splotches of excrement painted the mud-brick façade like a mural, the contents of numerous chamber pots. It was almost enough to cause Pareesa to smile.
"Pareesa!" Tirdard grinned. "I hear you took down seventy men?"
"It wasn't just me," Pareesa said without humor. Normally she'd be bouncing on her toes, eager to show off her latest mastery of a war skill, but celebrating seemed somehow inappropriate.
"How's Mikhail doing?".
"Better," Pareesa lied. He was no such thing. After he'd scared the crap out of her trying to fly out of there, he'd collapsed into his bed and been in and out of a raging fever ever since.
More villagers lauded her as she ascended to the pinnacle of the village. All her life she'd dreamed of getting accolades, and now that she was getting them, they sat like rotted meat in her belly.
Mikhail had survived the knife wound, only to succumb to a fever…
Mikhail's wound was infected…
Mikhail was delirious….
The man she had risked everything to save; mentor, best friend, role model and teacher, might not make it. Mikhail might die!
She wiped at the dust which caused her eyes to tear up. Best not to let the other warriors see she wept like a little girl. A runner had come to her mother's house to summon her for an audience with the chief. Her. A thirteen summer girl! She paused in front of Chief Kiyan's house, the second-largest building in the village, and knocked.
The door opened.
"I'm here to see…" Pareesa said with a mixture of girlish sheepishness and bravado.
"He's expecting you," the housekeeper cut her off. The stooped old woman gestured for her to follow. "This way."
Unlike most houses in Assur, the Chief's house had one room for ordinary activities, a second for greeting guests. A din of familiar voices informed her this meeting was about more than her.
"Ahh, Pareesa!" Chief Kiyan said. " We were just talking about you."
Pareesa stared at the faces seated in a circle on luxurious, fat cushions.
"Chief Kiyan," Pareesa addressed them in order of their rank. "Immanu. Varshab. Siamek." She turned to the three unexpected people in the room. "Yalda, Behnam an
d Rakshan?" What were the three elders who made up the Tribunal doing here? Was she in some kind of trouble?
"Come, sit Pareesa," Yalda said as if the old woman read her mind. "This is a war counsel. Before the Chief authorizes retaliation, he is strongly advised to bring evidence before the Tribunal." The seventy-six summer woman looked as though she'd spent the last few days crying. Mikhail was like a grandson to her, and she and her sister were the closest things that the dark-winged Angelic had to his own family.
"It prevents ill-advised retaliation," Behnam said, the second elder and one of Mikhail's eight original archers. "A clever enemy provokes retaliation before a village is prepared to sustain a full campaign."
"It gives us a chance to consider alternatives to outright action," Rakshan said, the third elder and a flint-knapper. "Our warriors are brave, but they often fail to consider whether we have the resources, lest we leave them with no weapons to lob at our enemy except for stones."
Pareesa's head buzzed as she stepped carefully to reach the cushion next to Siamek. She almost tripped on the plush wool carpet. Wouldn't that be impressive, to land flat on her face in front of the village elders? The room grew quiet, waiting for her to take her place at the gathering.
"First we must figure out which tribes allied with the lizard demons to help them orchestrate the attack," Chief Kiyan said.
"There were Halifians," Pareesa wracked her memory. "Uruk. Anatolians. And a few other tribes whose clothing I did not recognize. Most of them wore dress like the slavers did, only coarser."
"Mercenaries," Varshab said with disgust.
"Not necessarily," Behnam said. He leaned forward and took her hand. "Think, child. Was there any group that seemed to be in charge?"
"After the lizard demons?" Pareesa said. "I would say the Amorites."
"If I had to hazard a guess," Chief Kiyan said, "I'd say the lizard demons hired them, and then the Amorites used the promise of lizard gold to rile up mercenaries from wherever they could find them."
The tribunal nodded and all took another sip of their chai.
"So what shall we do about this insult to our dignity?" Siamek asked. "The Amorites didn't just attack our village, but every village when they sent their sky canoes against the tents of the gathered chiefs."
"Not all villages see it this way," Chief Kiyan said. He grimaced as he reached for his chai and rubbed his shoulder, temporarily out of its sling. "Some see this as an Assurian problem. We sheltered him, so it's our problem to avenge his injuries."
"We … sheltered him!" Pareesa sputtered. She forgot momentarily where she was. "How could you say something like that after all Mikhail has done for us?!"
"Peace, child," Yalda touched her arm. Her rheumy brown eyes were filled with sorrow. "The Chief is only repeating what the runners brought back for news."
"So all his work was for nothing?" Pareesa cried out. "Training the other villages to use a bow? Going to Gasur to help them fend off an attack?"
"Gasur is with us on this," Behnam said. "But…"
"The other villages do not know him," Immanu said. "He had just begun to make progress at the regional gathering of chiefs when he sensed the danger to Ninsianna."
Pareesa noted how haggard Immanu looked, how weary. She pitied the shaman who'd lost his only child. She had lost a friend in Ninsianna, but of the two, she'd always felt closer to Mikhail.
"We need somebody the warriors know to go to them and appeal to them directly," Chief Kiyan said. "Someone who trained with them when they came here to learn archery."
"We need you to remind them if not for Mikhail, each of their villages would have been overrun by men wielding bows," Immanu said.
"Why can't you do it?" Pareesa turned to Siamek.
"Because I was not there," Siamek said. "You took on the Evil One and won. Not me. Not any of us."
"It doesn't feel like a victory," Pareesa said. "Mikhail … he's … he's…" Her throat closed, unable to give voice to the terrible truth, 'he's dying…'
"Whether you are ready to assume the responsibility or not, child," Yalda took her hand, "the warriors who were there, who saw what you did to save him, and the warriors who've come here in the past, to train with him, to train with you, a mere child who used what he taught her to hold the line against an overwhelming force, see you as his prodigy."
"You can shame them into remembering how much they owe him," Behnam said.
"We are ready to render our decision," Yalda said. The room grew silent. As the oldest living person in the village, it was her right to speak for the Tribunal in any major decision. "How votes the tribunal on the matter of appointing Pareesa to enforce the treaty Mikhail negotiated at the regional gathering of chiefs?"
Treaty? What treaty?
"Agreed," Behnam said.
"Agreed," Rakshan said.
"The judgment of the Tribunal is unanimous," Yalda said. "I cast my vote in favor of Pareesa."
Pareesa sat there, her mouth agape, stunned. She was being sent to enforce a treaty with not just one village, but all of them.
"Varshab will accompany you," the Chief said, "along with a contingent of warriors." His face waxed serious. "Although technically you are in charge, I advise you to follow his lead."
Pareesa nodded, too tongue-tied to reply. How had she ended up in charge of this mission? She? A thirteen-summer girl?
"You'll need this," Immanu reached behind him and pulled a long, slender object wrapped in a leather skin.
Pareesa immediately recognized the shape.
"I will not take away Mikhail's sword!"
Immanu lay down the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. It was not Mikhail's sword, but one they'd confiscated from the dead lizard demons. Pareesa exhaled relief. As much as she'd always coveted Mikhail's sword, she'd be damned if she took it from him when he lay on his deathbed.
"Which village should I go to first?" Pareesa asked.
"Most villages sent warriors to pick through the battlefield for clues…"
"More like plunder the bodies," Behnam snorted with disgust.
"Chief Sinmushtal was killed by the sky canoes," Chief Kiyan said. "Qishtea will be there representing Nineveh. He is young to ascend to the rank of Chief, no older than Jamin." The Chief's eyes misted up. "He … I don't know how he'll react when you show up demanding he enforce his father's treaty. He told our emissary to go to hell, but you? You forced him to act honorably and send warriors to escort Mikhail to Assur. Maybe …"
"Qishtea needs a boot in the fanny," Yalda said. She patted Pareesa on the arm. "And you, my dear, are just the person to do it."
"I … I … I," Pareesa stammered.
"Not literally," Chief Kiyan said. He gave her a wry grin. "I hope." He turned to the other people assembled in the room. "Do we have any other order of business here today?"
"No," the other esteemed guests replied.
"Good," Chief Kiyan said. "If you don't mind, I'm not quite up to standards myself. Varshab will meet Pareesa at the north gate of the village in an hour."
* * * * *
How very different the sparse yellow landscape looked in the daylight, scrubbed clear of vegetation by the unrelenting sun and sandstorms which frequented this land even now that it was the rainy season. The lead runner called back word that the battlefield had come into view.
"Let's slow down," Varshab said. "It's best to walk off our sweat before we enter the presence of the other tribes."
"I'm fine," Pareesa said, eager to get there.
"You're fine," Varshab grunted. "Some of us aren't so young."
Varshab was in his mid-forties, just a bit older than the Chief and the same age as Immanu's older brother. While not handsome, he wasn't ugly, either; a typical hawk-nosed Ubaid. The only trait which made Varshab really stand out was his prowess as a warrior and his unflinching loyalty to the Chief. Even at a walk, the pace he set was aggressive. The other warriors fell into formation behind him in a marching maneuver taught to them by Mikhail.
>
Aha! Pareesa realized what Varshab was doing! She called out the first cadence of the silly marching song they'd made up based on Mikhail's fuzzy memory.
We're the Assurians
We fight as one
Engage the enemy
Watch them run
We're the Assurians
Meet our might
We will beat you
Watch us fight
One by one the warriors began to grin, chins up, backs straights, their soft-soled leather pampooties slapping against the soil like a drum. Spears clanked against shields to keep the rhythm. Mikhail had taught them how to fight as one. Now it was up to her to finish what he'd started, to convince the other villages to honor the mutual aid agreement Mikhail had coaxed out of their chiefs. Varshab fell into step beside her, his expression grave.
"I'm not really in charge here," Pareesa said. "Am I?"
Varshab's eyes crinkled in a wistful smile. There'd been a perpetual sadness about the man ever since his wife of twenty-six years had passed away from a coughing sickness last fall. The man plowed on, stoic in a way that reminded her a bit of Mikhail.
"What do you suggest?" Pareesa asked, relieved her responsibilities were limited. She was always eager to take on a challenge, but not when she had no idea about what she was supposed to do.
"You're already doing it," Varshab gestured to the men who marched around them, now making up verses ad lib. "The one to impress will be Qishtea, Nineveh's brand new chief. What Nineveh does, the other northern villages usually follow."
"He's a loudmouth and a bully," Pareesa snorted. "Ipquidad told me what a goat's behind he was to him and the other volunteers we tried to embed into his village to help him."
"He just lost his father and got handed far more power than he knows how to handle," Varshab reminded her. "And he's a hothead and he wants revenge. We must encourage him to choose a sensible method of winning … not a reckless one."
Pareesa fell silent, listening to the sound of the chanting warriors. She was suddenly painfully aware of the fact she'd sprouted a pair of breasts. What could she do? A girl? Amongst a tribe who viewed women as little more than brood goats? She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders to keep the offending body parts out of view. To respect her, the other villages needed to think of her as a man.
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 23
